


Spotlight

by Homer_TheBlindBard



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Mental Health Issues, Multi, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24274231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homer_TheBlindBard/pseuds/Homer_TheBlindBard
Summary: “Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.”― Friedrich W. NietzscheCriminal psychotherapist, Thomas Barrow is called into Arkham Asylum to restore order and to decide the fate of a man whose trial is causing chaos in Gotham, but when Thomas meets Arthur Fleck he struggles to look away from the Abyss.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Free

My life was grey with monotony and loneliness, and it was red with pain. But now I can see a rainbow of colours and sensations as I relive my guest appearance on The Murray Show, the relief and joy in the seconds following, pouring out my heart to be heard and how the crowd of clowns cheered me on as I felt I became Joker. But it didn't last and now I'm back at Arkham waiting to be poked and prodded at like some alien specimen. I mean, is it that hard to understand why I killed those guys. I'm not crazy, I'm the most sane person around this place.

 _Funny_. Mom had been here before too and they gave her a lobotomy. _Like mother like son I guess._  
_Accept I was never you're son._  
Arthur burst out painful sobs, disguised as laughs, that wracked his whole frail body. 

Moving to the back of his cell he looked out of his little window, that served as his only light in the black cold void. Street lights lit up a small back alley and a giant rat ran by.  
"Run free little guy" Arthur whispered to himself.  
Joker smiled. After all, he'd just set the people of Gotham free. Even if some of them didn't know it, Joker could sense something had really _changed_ in the city. 

**Bright lights from the wrecked cars and streetlamps penetrated the cold black night, the smell of smoke and sulphur, and the sound of arson and anarchy. Chaos.**  
_I set them free of care and they loved me for it._

There were voices approaching and a banging on the cell door.  
"Meds!"  
Arthur turned around, and not for the first time he considered actually taking the pills. He felt so awful sometimes.  
"C'mon, I aint got all day."  
He took the pills from the slot in the door and when the orderlies moved on he stuffed them into his hiding place.  
_But if I take them Joker will leave me._ No, Joker wasn't done with Arthur yet, and Arthur didn't want to be Fleck anymore.  
_Fleck like a speck..._

He went back to the window, imagining what it would feel like to escape the box cell. 

The next time that awful orderly came back he would pull his hand through the slot and bash his head against the metal door, take the key from his waist, when the guard came with his gun Arthur would take the pen from the drug tray, he'd pretend to surrender and when the guard came near he'd plunge it into his neck. The staircase would be conspiratorially empty as he escaped Arkham into the awaiting arms of his fans.  
He could hear them now, cheering him on and throwing Gotham into turmoil. 

Everyday for the last week of being in Arkham Asylum, Arthur knew when it was nearing night without even leaving bed; because he could hear police sirens outside, and a wave of pride would rise in his chest.

 _What a perfect night_ , he thought as the rats nest outside Arkham began to fester.


	2. Too little too late

It wasn't long before they had him sitting in front of another psychiatrist.  
_Funny, she looks just like the last one, is it some sort of joke they're playing or am I just crazy?_

"Arthur, it's important you be honest with yourself, I can help your case. If you're honest." She tried to look like she understood but he could see the fear in her eyes. She was probably thinking about the last time Arthur had been in this seat.  
"Do you remember attacking the last psychiatrist"  
He could remember. But it wasn't his memory. The Joker had taken over. 

...

_You wouldn't get it._  
Arthur had laughed at his own words, puffing on his cigarette which was given to him as a sort of peace offering, naively, in the hopes it would get him to talk.  
The woman who reminded him of his old Therapist looked at him expectedly. "Well, why don't you explain it to me?" 

**She will never understand you. She might as well die.**  
One second later, the cigarette was shoved into her eye and he was on her, wrapping his hands around her delicate throat and choking out her life's breath.  
Once the Joker was caught he was drugged up, restrained in a straight jacket and locked in solitary .  
...

Honestly, she didn't deserve to die, she wasn't like the others he had killed - in his eyes justly.  
But then again, Arthur hadn't made the decision to kill her.  
"I couldn't stop myself..."

"What triggered you?"

_HAHAHA_  
"WELL, how do I know? Everything is triggering. Nice word choice by the way."

And Arthur mimicked blowing his brains out.


	3. Thomas

“Gotham is still grappling with the aftermath of the October riots. Nearly one year ago Chaos erupted in Gotham when three men were killed on the subway by the man widely known as Joker.”  
God, I hated the news these days, nothing was reported but violent murders, pork barrel politics and ongoing rioting.

“I can’t believe your actually going to meet him” my roommate, James, looked at me like I’d gone crazy.

I was packing my briefcase and preparing myself, physically and mentally, to start working at the infamous Arkham Asylum.

“I’ve been assigned a lot of patients, I don't know he's one of them. If he is I’ll treat him like all the others.”

Arkham was in bad condition, underfunded and understaffed, which was why I had taken the position.  
It was also well paid. Yes, okay only because no one in their right mind wanted to work there, considering the number of staff incidents was monstrous and frankly unacceptable. But I thought I could handle it. After all I thought, I had worked with "dangerous" individuals before and had helped them change for the better. I grew up in England, got my degree in criminal phycology and then left for America. Where anything is possible and dreams come true. Yeah. I Spent a good few years working in New York, then I moved to Gotham. I've worked as a criminal profiler for the Gotham police force but recently it was made clear to me I could apply my skills elsewhere, hopefully where it would be more appreciated. I found trying to champion a new method of catching criminals was hard when faced against old men stuck in their ways and already weary of you being an 'outsider'.

“I don’t know how you do it, Thomas.” I looked at James questioningly, “being around crazy people all the time.”

I huffed a small laugh, “Well, first of all, I don’t think of them as crazy. They need aid and if I can try to understand them and what happened to them then that knowledge might just help in the future. Help prevent other people taking the same road. And if they don't respond to talk therapy then at least I'll be there watching them.” 

I put my notebook in the briefcase last of all and zipped it shut, turning to him, “Just imagine I’m protecting Gotham from the Crazies.” I joked.

“Yeah right, more like poking around in their heads.”

“That too” I agreed.

Taking one last look in the bathroom mirror I checked myself.  
Neat black hair, pale skin, emerald eyes, I wore a simple brown suit. I believed the mellow tones and my soft spoken English accent put the patients at ease.  
“perfect.” I told myself.

The drive to Arkham wasn’t long, and I arrived pursued by a cold October wind, the shredded trees stood like skeletal sentries outside the hospital, the sky was grey, threatening rain. When I reached reception I noticed the distinct lack of style or colour of the place. No one had even made an effort to make it look welcoming, instead the walls were painted a sickly yellow colour and a few brown couches lined the wall facing the reception desk where an older receptionist lady sat scribbling something and not even looking up to see who had entered. Before I could approach the desk I was greeted by a petite woman who appeared out of nowhere but had obviously been waiting nervously for me to arrive. Late 40s, brown frizzy hair, Clare Garcia, would be my new boss at Arkham. She was polite and seemed enthusiastic, relieved that someone with a background handling dangerous people was there to help, because apparently, she said, someone who could cope with 'extreme psychological distress' was desperately needed.  
She showed me my office where I’d work, fill out paperwork, make reports back to central on the state of Arkham and the hold appointments for a few of my more aware patients. The office was plain and empty except for a desk and some cabinets, I knew I'd have my work cut for me trying to make it look welcoming. But that's why I came here, for a challenge. 

But if I really admitted to myself the real reason I took this position, it was because of one patient in particular, and a particular trial approaching that was causing pandemonium on the streets. Of course I had no way of knowing for sure he would become one of my patients but then officially, in my professional mind, I wasn't at Arkham just to meet Arthur Fleck. Because that would mean admitting I was intrigued by his story. Case I should say. And if I was intrigued then it meant there was something in it that resonated with me. Mrs Garcia handed me a set of keys. She promised to return soon to formally show me around the secure psychiatric unit but for now left me to set up office. Immediately, I unlocked the file cabinet containing my new patients records, I would have to get permission and make a subsequent report that I would be making copies to take home. 

I wanted to get to know each and every one of the people I would be seeing.

But for now I simply flipped through the names. Most were women, which was unusual, typically and statistically women in psychiatric need responded better to other women, not always of course.. 

I only have three male patient, Michael Sanchez, just 23 years old, been in and out of care his whole life. Robert Morgan, 54 years old, schizophrenic and lastly Arthur Fleck...

Evidently, I **was** going to meet the infamous Joker.


	4. Outsider

**“Head psychiatric nurse, David Scott. Good to meet you.”**  
Mr Scott was a middle aged man with a booming voice, in his attire he cut an imposing figure. He had appeared outside my office door suddenly and if I wasn't used to supressing my natural reactions I would have jumped.  
I shook his hand and greeted him back.

“You’ll need these for the individual rooms and you’ll need to know the codes to the different wards.”

I accepted the keys he gave me and attached them to the growing bunch hanging off my waist.

“Yeah we stepped up security recently after, well you’ll read all about it soon.”

It was hardly a secret that Arthur Fleck had attacked staff members repeatedly, even mortally wounding a female psychiatrist when he hadn’t been taking his medication. Word got around easily here.

He passed me a small device, a personal attack alarm.

“Don’t ever leave it in your office, have it with you at all times. Y' hear? ”  
I resisted the urge to say 'yes, sir.' Often being polite got you places, but I sensed with this man he might see it as a sign of some weakness, so I opted to keep my quiet stoic façade up around him since I was pretty incapable of playing at being 'one of the dudes'.

“Let me introduce you to some of the guys you’ll be working with.”  
We walked down several corridors and through several locked doors, I asked questions along the way to get a feel for how the place was run. More specifically how he thought it ran. After all I'd already read the reports on Arkham's performance.  
He stopped shortly before entering the staff room and lowered his voice.  
"Listen buddy, management is glad to have you here."  
"But the staff, the guys who recently lost their friend to a psycho and have to deal with crazy shit everyday, just to warn you, they don't appreciate an outsider talking about reforming the inmates. Understand?"  
I had expected this. Frankly, I'm surprised it didn't come sooner.  
"I understand."

The smell of coffee was in the air, about five people were all congregated in the staff room.  
"English! We were just talking about you." A man, shorter but broader than me came and clasped my shoulder, smiling.  
"It's good to know the English are finally repaying us after we saved them in the last two wars, by sending this guy to help!"  
Oh boy...  
"Knock it of Dom." A younger lady came and shook my hand.  
Nice to see someone with a little professionalism.  
"My name's Katy, you can call me Cat."  
Thomas was first struck by her eyes, they were a pale golden colour that stood out against her darker skin.  
The jokester pitched in "We all call you Cat, cuz you're feisty." She rolled her eyes and smiled at me. "Nice to meet you Cat." and for the first time in awhile I really meant it.  
I greeted everyone else cordially and Mr Scott introduced me.  
"Now I know some of you are sceptical or confused about exactly what it is Mr Barrow is here to do. He is simply here as a clinical psychiatrist. Anything else you've heard is rumour."  
Scott seemed to have the respect of the people in the room but even so, judging by his folded arms and facial expression, Dominic Granger was still unconvinced.  
I mean, he had reason to be. I wasn't there as a simple psychiatrist, I was going to be reporting on the state of Arkham. I wondered if Mr Scott knew this or not. If any of them found out I would surely be seen as some sort of English spy. An outsider.


	5. Boundaries

A week had come and gone since my introduction to Arkham Asylum. I had read every patient’s file, giving particular consideration to the details that had significantly influenced their lives, if not shaped them. I didn’t believe that everyone’s life followed a strict path of fate laid down at birth. No. Instead I thought that everyone had set boundaries. Boundaries of which type and volume were determined before birth. Nothing to do with the soul, or Atman or reincarnation but boundaries that are created by their parents and their respective boundaries inherited from _their_ parents, then sculpted by your environment. Boundaries restrict and help define the actions of people. 

My patients, they broke out of _societies_ boundaries, but most of them, I suspect, are still trapped in the middle of their own personal concrete prison walls. I suppose that was why I was so intrigued with Arthur Fleck; and why when I read his files that my curiosity peaked. Following all directions, Arthur Fleck’s boundaries should have meant he would continue to live a poor, unfortunate and loveless life until he ended it. Yes, it’s a sad fact but I’m sure it would have been true. He was beat up at a very young age, the trauma caused to his head left him afflicted with Pseudobulbar affect. This derailed any attempts he made to convey his thoughts and feelings to other people and inevitably led to being the target of bullying. The fact that these factors continued untill he was in his 30s would suggest they were permanents. Boundaries. Arthur would never stand up for himself. He would sit quietly **like a good little boy and take it**. He should have never broken out of his boundaries. 

But he did. That’s what I wondered about. _How did he do it?_ And why?

While I had been developing my thoughts, not just on Arthur Fleck's case but other patients, I redecorated my office space. I painted the previously stark white walls a light warm brown and put down an old carpet I'd brought from home. I also brought a wooden grandfather clock and placed it behind my desk, on the other side of which I had an armchair. When David Scott saw it he remarked it was all very _posh_ and _weird_. I knew it was unorthodox but I wanted it to feel comfy and create a sense of normalcy. Despite the lack of natural light from the small windows, I replaced the flickering lightbulbs and artificially lit the room up.

Finally, I was ready for my first appointment.


End file.
